Sherlock's Brain
by Writes By Night
Summary: In which Molly gets to see Sherlock naked and it's nothing like her dreams.


Title: Sherlock's Brain  
Summary: In which Molly gets to see Sherlock naked and it's nothing like her dreams.  
Rating: PG-13...ish  
Warnings: Major Character Death (off screen). Brief description of nudity and eating disorders.  
Genre: Sherlock BBC (no real spoilers whatsoever), angst, tragedy, gen  
Word Count: 900  
Disclaimer: I do not own/am not associated with Sherlock. I make no money from this.

Author's Note: This is a story based on a prompt at the Sherlock BBC kinkmeme which said something like: Molly discovers that Sherlock doesn't only have a big brain. Below is more or less exactly what was asked for and most likely in no way what was actually wanted. It's basically a crack fill that somehow decided to be morbidly serious and then ends in crack again. I even actually bothered to look up what a morgue technician does, but I didn't bother to spend a long time on it, so…might be accurate, might not. And…er…it has major character death, so I suppose I should warn for that. This is what came to my mind when I read your prompt.

**The story****  
**  
Molly wasn't going to cry. She was a professional, and she had put her good make-up on for the occasion. She didn't want it to streak.

Really, she probably shouldn't have been doing this at all. She could have called in Dave or even Maria; no morgue technician was expected to work on friends. It was probably even in the list of Things You Are Not To Do With A Corpse, no cutting up people you loved. But truth to be told this wasn't truly a friend. Molly had liked him, fancied him, but if she was brutally honest she hadn't known him. She couldn't say his favorite place to eat, is favorite music, his favorite anything beyond beverage preferences and his enjoyment in experimenting on the dead. And now here he was, dead. Molly wished she knew of an experiment she could do on him; he would have appreciated that. She had half expected to find he had left his body to science, but apparently not.

She uncovered the body. She was surprised to find that she really wasn't crying. This wasn't Sherlock Holmes, lying cold before her. This was another left over vessel, to be respected and taken care of for what it used to be. This she could do.

It was still weird seeing him lying there, dead. She knew he was dead, of course. It wasn't anything gruesome that had finally brought him down, there would be no gunshot or blade wounds for Molly to clean up. In the end, it wasn't even one of his cases, at least not directly. It was a heart attack. Apparently he had been anorexic. All those times she brought him coffee, she should have been bringing him sandwiches.

He didn't look obviously skinny when she uncovered him. She couldn't help but study his limbs, slender but muscular, and the way the ribs stuck out just the slightest bit too much. He still didn't have that skeletal look she had half expected when she understood exactly what had killed him. She still couldn't quite believe it. Anorexia. She really hadn't known him at all. Well. She might as well start getting the body ready. The forensic technician would be arriving soon, someone Molly didn't know, someone Sherlock's brother had called in. They were going to do a full autopsy. Just to be absolutely sure of things. Sherlock had had so many enemies.

The brother had mentioned offering John the task. They had both come down, with the body, and John looked like he could do with a sandwich or two himself. Molly really thought he might hit Mr. Holmes when he started to talk about cutting Sherlock open. Well. John wasn't going to be present after all. Molly wondered if John would fall under being Sherlock's friend or as family. Either way, it was for the best.

She slowly uncovered the rest of the body, still waiting for the other technician to arrive. The body was already naked, so there were no clothes to remove or tag, no personal belongings. The body was smooth and white, marred by many scars, old and new. Some the normal scrapes and marks everyone acquired throughout their life, some quite severe. There was one long scar across his abdomen that looked like it must have been quite dangerous when it was made, possibly life threatening. Yet it was never guns or blades that were his greatest enemy.

It was when she got as far as his thigh that she saw something she didn't expect. Of all the things she thought she might see on Sherlock Holmes's body, a tattoo wasn't one of them. From the fading, it was done a few years before and never renewed. Perhaps a drunken mistake? Though she had a hard time imagining Sherlock drunk, he was always so…alert. Alive. Swallowing against a sudden, unexpected lump in her throat, she quickly concentrated on the smudged ink, leaning in closer to try and make out what it was. It took her a while; not only was it faded with time but it wasn't the sort of thing that usually showed up with tattoos. Then again, it was exactly the sort Sherlock might find attractive. It was a brain.

Sherlock Holmes had a tattoo of a brain on his left thigh. And suddenly, Molly had to fight back the urge to giggle. The great genius Sherlock Holmes didn't only have a big brain…he had two. No wonder he was so quick with his mind. Then the door was opening at last, admitting a young woman, and Molly stood away from the body quickly, suddenly acutely aware of exactly what location of the body she had been leaning into. The woman didn't say anything about it though, didn't even give her an odd look. Just introduced herself. She was followed by a guy with a camera; Mr. Holmes wanted absolutely nothing missed.

It was time to do her job. Tears for could-ofs and might-have-beens could come later. Right now there was a vessel lying before them that had once housed the brilliant, rude, beautiful, impossible Sherlock Holmes.

She also noticed, in passing, that he also had a rather large penis, but of course she was far too professional to dwell upon that.

The End


End file.
